Книга - To Be a Family

To Be a Family
Joan Kilby


What do you do when your dreams for tomorrow happen today? John Forster's plans to eventually be a father hit high gear when he's granted custody of his little girl. Although he does his best, it's soon clear she needs help adjusting to this small Australian town.Fortunately, there's one person with the right skills to assist–Katie Henning. Too bad she's his ex-fiancée.Seeing Katie with his daughter resurrects John's dreams about having a family together. And the simmering attraction that still sparks when he's with Katie makes him think, maybe. Maybe he can make up for their past. Maybe he can build on what they share now. And maybe they can have that future he's always wanted.







The courage to try again

What do you do when your dreams for tomorrow happen today? John Forster’s plans to eventually be a father hit high gear when he’s granted custody of his little girl. Although he does his best, it’s soon clear she needs help adjusting to this small Australian town. Fortunately, there’s one person with the right skills to assist—Katie Henning. Too bad she’s his ex-fiancée.

Seeing Katie with his daughter resurrects John’s dreams about having a family together. And the simmering attraction that still sparks when he’s with Katie makes him think, maybe. Maybe he can make up for their past. Maybe he can build on what they share now. And maybe they can have that future he’s always wanted.


“Did I break your heart?”

Katie blurted the words, suddenly desperate to know if the accusations were true. “Am I the reason you haven’t found someone else and married?”

John swore under his breath. “Is that what my mother told you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t listen to her.” He plastered on a grin. “Do I look like a guy with a broken heart?”

Taking his question seriously, Katie studied him in the dappled green light filtering through the oak tree. She saw shallow creases between his eyebrows and a mouth that used to laugh a lot more than it did now. She saw that something intangible was missing in his eyes. “You look like a man who hasn’t found what he’s looking for.”


Dear Reader,

In To Be a Family the hero travels to Bali to claim his six-year-old daughter whose mother has passed away. Why Bali? This beautiful Indonesian island is a popular holiday destination for Australians. It’s renowned for its surf beaches, vibrant nightlife and for being relatively inexpensive.

When I first traveled there twenty-five years ago, what I loved was the lush scenery, the intricate paintings and carvings, the colorful local customs and the friendly, gentle people. Oh, and the delicious food! My husband and I hadn’t been married long at that time and the trip was almost like a honeymoon.

We returned to Bali last year and stayed in a tiny fishing village just like the one where the hero’s daughter lives. The day we arrived we followed a funeral procession similar to the one I’ve described in the book at a crawl down the winding narrow coastal road.

The village is so small and out of the way there are few tourists and little in the way of amenities. No TV, no internet, no telephone. We spent our days snorkeling on the coral reef right offshore and the evenings relaxing, reading and talking. As I write, we’re planning another trip there next month. I can’t wait.

I love to hear from readers. Write me at joan@joankilby.com or c/o Harlequin Enterprises Ltd, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9. For more info about me and my books visit my website, www.joankilby.com (http://www.joankilby.com).

Till next time!

Joan Kilby




To Be a Family

Joan Kilby







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

When Joan Kilby isn’t writing her next Harlequin Superromance title, she loves to travel, often to Asia which is right on Australia’s doorstep, so to speak. Now that her three children are grown, she and her husband enjoy the role reversal of taking off and leaving the kids to take care of the house and pets.


To my wonderful editor, Wanda Ottewell.

You bring out the best in my writing and inspire me to stretch my wings.

Sometimes you even understand my characters better than I do!

Thank you so much.


Contents

Chapter One (#u9af26bd4-d635-52fe-909d-e879ae82b8ae)

Chapter Two (#u634018da-f0a9-5363-b9dd-3438d1bafca6)

Chapter Three (#u4cd2c7f7-5e6f-5f6f-b763-7c3007dcea8c)

Chapter Four (#uf980fbec-31d6-5bf3-8c14-9ca7a412d4d0)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

KATIE GAZED at the children’s book section in Summerside Books, pretending she was just browsing, drawing out the anticipation of seeing Lizzy And Monkey on the shelf.

She had finished having a coffee and a chat with Josie, the owner of the shop. Now she couldn’t wait any longer. The bright red cover was in her peripheral vision. Slowly, slowly, she let her gaze alight. Her breath caught.

Lizzy And Monkey by Katie Henning.

With the cover facing out. Thanks, Josie.

She took out her cell phone, glanced around to make sure no one was watching and snapped a photo.

“Katie, hi.” John Forster appeared from around the corner of a bookshelf. Six foot four, he had the broad shoulders of a swimmer, the lean build and sun-streaked blond hair of a surfer. With a wink he presented her with his profile, a strong nose and chiseled jaw. “Did you get my good side?”

“Hey, John.” She stuffed her phone in her purse.

Of all the people who could have caught her gloating over her book—it had to be her ex-fiancé. If he could still be called that after seven years apart. There must be a statute of limitations on how long someone could be referred to as an ex. Ex-fiancé, ex-lover, ex-friend. Now he was the chief of police in Summerside and her brother Riley’s best mate. Someone she didn’t avoid exactly, but neither did she spend a moment longer in his company than was necessary for small-town politeness.

His intense blue gaze swept over her from head to toe then returned to linger on her face. “You look great. I like your hair like that. What are you up to?”

Self-consciously she tucked a dark strand of shoulder-length hair behind her ear. He always did this, acted as if he didn’t remember they’d broken up. Even though she never gave him the slightest encouragement.

She moved away, pretending to look at other books. “I’m looking for new titles for my classroom.”

The long dimples in his cheeks deepened. He pulled Lizzy And Monkey off the shelf. “This looks interesting.”

She reached out to stop him from handling her book. Grinning, he backed up, daring her to come after him. She snatched her hand away. “You know about this. How?”

“Riley, who else?” John flipped through the colorful pages. “Congratulations, by the way. I remember you talking about wanting to write, years ago. It’s a big achievement.”

“Thanks.” She made a mental note to kill her brother the next time she saw him. Or at least seriously maim him.

“Why so secretive? You’re a published author now. You’ll have to get used to publicity. You should have a launch party and sign copies.” Somehow he’d edged close enough to nudge her.

His bare arm heated her skin below the cap sleeve of her cherry-red dress. He smelled like bracing ocean winds, sea minerals and memories. Although he didn’t surf professionally anymore she knew he still swam in the bay every morning.

Casually she stepped away. His touch didn’t affect her one way or another. And they were no longer on flirting terms.

A burst of laughter from a group of teenage girls heading to the in-store café reminded her where she ought be. “I’ve got to get back to school.” She tried to ease past him to get to the central aisle. “Excuse me.”

“Katie, wait.” He deliberately blocked the narrow space between bookshelves.

“The lunch bell is going to ring soon.” Coolly she gazed into his Paul Newman eyes. He didn’t bother her. She didn’t care. She’d gotten over him long ago. She refused to make herself late because of him. There was nothing he could say that would detain her another second—

“Do you think a six-year-old girl would enjoy your book?”

Except that. Damn it, with a few words she was hooked.

“I wrote it for that age group.” Was he teasing her again? On the whole she thought not. The eye glint and the dimples were not in evidence. “Are you asking for one of your nieces?”

“Er…something like that.”

It wasn’t like John to be evasive. If she wasn’t one of his nieces then his current girlfriend must have a daughter. According to her brother, John had broken up with Trudy, his previous squeeze, a few weeks ago. His girlfriends never lasted longer than six months. Whoever she was would be another in a long and endless line of John’s women. Katie was inured to that now. She wasn’t really interested but writers were curious types.

“New woman in your life, one with a kid?”

Instead of replying he flipped through the book, turning his attention to the colorful illustrations. “Nice pictures. Riley said you did those, too.”

“Is this little girl from around here?” Not in her class, she hoped, her mind skipping ahead to John arriving at school to pick up some other woman’s child. Well, it had to happen someday. She was surprised he’d remained single this long. He’d been in a hurry to marry when they’d been going together—maybe he’d finally met another woman who had been able to convince him to drop his role as the town playboy.

“What’s the story about?” he asked, still ignoring her questions.

“A little girl and her pet monkey. Sort of Curious George meets Madeleine.”

“I always had a soft spot for monkeys.”

She knew that, of course. John was the inspiration for Monkey in the story. Bold, clever, brave. “The monkey and the girl go on adventures together. It’s going to be a series.” If her latest book proposal was picked up by her publisher. Big if, but she was counting on it.

He closed the book and smiled at her. “Your hair looks really pretty today.”

“You said that.” She felt nothing, she really didn’t.

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he went on. “It’s been ages since we’ve had a chat.”

“I can’t. I told you. I have to get back to school.” She wished he would stop. He never gave up asking her out even though she’d replied with a firm no about a billion times.

“No worries. Another time.” He said it as if it mattered not a whit to him, as if all his flirtation was just hot air. It probably was. John didn’t seem to know any other way to relate to women.

He held the book out to her, open at the title page. “Will you sign it?”

Katie dug in her purse for a pen. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Tuti. T-u-t-i.”

“That’s unusual,” she said, but didn’t make much of it. As a teacher she’d learned not to bat an eye at the odd names parents came up with these days. She propped the book on her knee and wrote:



To Tuti,

I hope you enjoy my book.

Warmest wishes, Katie Henning.



Katie couldn’t help smiling as she handed the book back. She’d just signed her very first book. “Do you think the girl you’re buying this for will like a story about a monkey?”

He didn’t answer for a moment while he read her inscription. Then he looked up at her. His smile had the power to melt hearts. But not hers. “Monkeys are perfect. They live in the jungle near her village.”

Katie blinked. “Seriously? She lives near a jungle?”

“Yep.” That was it, no elaboration.

Not the offspring of the girlfriend of the moment. Who, then? No, no, no. She was not going to ask about the mysterious Tuti. Writer or not, she didn’t care enough about John to be that interested.

He tucked the book under his arm and gave her a last lingering look. “I’ll see you around.”

No, he wouldn’t unless it was by accident. Katie made sure she was never at the same social gatherings, despite their mutual friends. The statute of limitations would never be up on his violation after he’d abandoned her when she’d needed him most.

But then curiosity got the better of her after all. As he turned to go, she asked, “Who is Tuti?”

His smile was bland and fixed. But a shadow passed across his eyes. She couldn’t read his expression.

“Just a girl I know in Bali,” he said.

* * *

JOHN TIED A traditional Balinese brown cotton band around his head. He didn’t know Tuti, his six-year-old daughter. He was about to meet her for the first time at the funeral of her mother, Nena. He was mixed-up and confused, not sure how he was supposed to feel. This meeting was never supposed to happen. What would he say? What should he do? What was going to happen to Tuti now?

Incense wafted over the high stone walls of the family compound. Drumming and chanting floated on the sea breeze. Wearing a borrowed batik sarong beneath his short-sleeved shirt John went through the gates to join the dozens of family and friends behind the funeral tower, a thirty-foot-high golden pagoda-like structure built of wood and bamboo that transported Nena’s body.

Women dressed in silk batik sarongs and lace blouses carried offerings of flowers and fruit on their heads. The men wore cotton headdresses and sarongs. The funeral procession slowly wound through the tiny fishing village. There was no crying, no sadness, even though Nena had died prematurely in a motorcycle accident. In Bali, death wasn’t a cause for grief but a celebration of a life that had moved to a higher plane.

John recognized Tuti among the throng by the pigtails that stuck out on either side of her head. She also wore traditional clothing and carried her niece, a toddler almost as big as she was. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to her yet. He’d arrived late last night and the elaborate funeral preparations, already two days old, consumed everyone’s time.

Tuti had no idea who he was. Was there any point in telling her? He’d only come to pay his respects to Nena and to make sure the girl would be cared for.

There’d never been any question that he and Nena might stay together long term. They’d both been clear it was a holiday fling. He’d been on the rebound and Nena, who worked in a souvenir shop in Kuta, a tourist hot spot and part of the surfing scene, wasn’t looking for a husband. When she found out she was pregnant, she made her intentions known. She didn’t want to live in Australia, nor did she want her child to pine for a father who only visited once a year. It was better to raise the child without John. That had hurt but he’d sent her money regularly and extra whenever she needed it. He would continue to help out Nena’s brother and the family.

Being back in Bali, among Nena’s people, brought back memories and emotions from that turbulent time. What he’d wanted out of life and what he’d ended up with were, sadly, two different things. He’d wanted a home and family with Katie but instead she’d gotten cancer and broken their engagement. Fleeing to Bali, he’d had a fling with Nena and accidentally fathered her child.

Katie had been near death but she’d survived. Nena, the picture of health, had died at the age of thirty-three. He and Katie lived in the same small town and he saw her frequently, but their relationship was strained. After his affair with Nena, despite telephone and email communication, he’d never seen her again. It was a tribute to the generosity of her family and community that he was now welcomed into her world.

When he’d known Nena seven years ago she’d seemed very Western. Her funeral, and village life on the less-populated side of the island, was revealing a foreign culture with unfamiliar rituals. He didn’t know whether nonfamily members were aware he was Tuti’s father, but his presence seemed to be accepted.

He joined the procession that wound its way to the cremation grounds next to a temple overlooking the ocean. The coffin was placed in a ten-foot-high wooden bull painted in black and gold standing atop a funeral pyre. The white-robed priest said prayers. There was more chanting, more incense. The dissonant notes of a gamelan orchestra—gongs, bells, xylophones and drums—filled the air.

Someone doused the bull with petrol and set it alight. Flames shot skyward. Heat pushed the crowd back. Silently, John said a few words of remembrance. He hadn’t known Nena long but he’d cared about her. She was gone far too soon.

He glanced around for Tuti. She stood a little apart, on her tiptoes, trying to see through the crowd. Her headdress was askew, her pigtails sagging. Someone must have taken the toddler. In her hands she held an offering of woven palm frond containing boiled rice and marigold petals.

John nudged through the crowd to get to her. He touched her shoulder and mimed picking her up so she could see. She nodded shyly. He hoisted her onto his hip and carried her to the front where he lowered her briefly so she could place her offering by the fire. He didn’t know if he was breaking any customs or committing an impropriety but it felt like the right thing to do. Then her small arm circled his shoulders. He blinked and swallowed around a lump in his throat. Tuti was too young to be without her mother.

* * *

AFTER THE CEREMONY, the feasting began. John set Tuti on the ground and they made their way to a bale, a raised wooden platform where the women were laying out rice, fruits, vegetables and spicy grilled meats on banana leaves.

Wayan, Nena’s older brother, was seated cross-legged on the bale, his legs tucked beneath his brown-and-purple sarong. At his invitation John kicked off his sandals and climbed up, folding his legs into a cross-legged posture. Tuti brought him a glass of rice liquor.

From previous visits to Bali John knew the Balinese often spent their life savings on cremation ceremonies. He had ready an envelope containing several hundred dollars. This he passed to Wayan. “To help with the funeral.”

Wayan nodded his thanks and slipped the envelope into a fold of his sarong. Then he gestured at the array of food. “Please, have something to eat.”

John spent the hours until sundown among Nena’s family and friends. He spoke with the adults but his gaze frequently drifted to Tuti. Now that the formal ceremony was over she and the other children ran around and played. She was a tomboy, climbing barefoot up a palm tree with her sarong hiked up, revealing pink shorts underneath. He smiled to himself. As a boy he’d spent half his life up in trees. Somehow he’d always imagined his son—when he had one—would be a tree climber. He’d never thought of a daughter that way. Yet here was Tuti, just like him in that respect.

One of Tuti’s aunts spoke to her in Balinese with what sounded like a gentle reprimand. Tuti shook her head and giggled, showing her dimples. The aunt smiled and gestured for her to come down. Tuti just tilted her head and laughed again.

John blinked. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought Tuti bore any physical resemblance to him or his family. In appearance she looked much like her mother’s side—brown skin, dark hair, almond-shaped eyes. But the way she’d tilted her head just then…she reminded him of his mother.

The realization rocked him. All through Tuti’s short life he’d been able to hold himself apart from her. Yes, he’d had the DNA test to prove she was his and he did the right thing with support payments. But he’d done that as though sending money to a sponsor child, as if he had no personal ties to Tuti. Even when he’d first seen her it was easy to feel separate because superficially she looked nothing like him.

Witnessing their connection in the small mannerism was living proof they were connected, that Tuti wasn’t just a distant responsibility. She was his daughter. His parents’ granddaughter. His brother and sisters’ niece. It was a bizarre thing to realize here and now—surrounded by Nena’s family—but the foreignness just made the recognition sharper.

Tuti belonged to him. She was part of his family, too. He simply couldn’t walk away from that.

* * *

“THE CROWD IS BIG,” Katie said to Melissa, the woman running the mini writer’s festival at the Summerside Library. She peeked through the doorway at rows of chairs filled with children and their parents. “I thought I’d just be speaking to kids.”

“You’ll be fine.” Melissa touched her arm and smiled. “You’ve got a warm personality. Just be yourself. Let your positivity shine through.”

“But what can I talk about that will interest the adults?” Katie leafed through her notes. “I was planning on telling a story about an adventure Lizzy and Monkey had that didn’t make it into the book.”

“The children will love that. Most authors also talk about how they came to be a writer, what inspires them, their journey to publication, et cetera. The adults will feel they can connect with you as a person.”

“At least I won’t need notes for that.”

Katie followed Melissa into the room and waited to one side of the lectern while the librarian introduced her. A brief round of applause and then a sea of faces—fifty, sixty?—gazed up at her expectantly. She spotted some of her students. Paula Drummond and her son Jamie were also in the audience. Paula, a police detective who would soon be Katie’s sister-in-law, winked at her.

“Good morning, everyone.” Katie tilted her head, waiting.

Her students in the audience chanted, “Good morning, Miss Henning.” A ripple of laughter broke Katie’s tension.

“Thanks for coming. Shortly I’ll talk about how I came to be a writer but first…” She detached the microphone from the lectern, pinned it to the lapel of her blouse and walked onto the dais. “I want to tell you a story about the time Lizzy and Monkey were walking on the beach and found a pirate’s treasure chest....”

For fifteen minutes, the audience listened, rapt. At the end of her story, Katie concluded, “Monkey was sorry to see the pirate ship sail away, but Lizzy was ready to go home for supper. She knew there would be more adventures the next time she and Monkey went for a walk.”

Applause greeted the end of her story, allowing Katie time to take a drink of water. She was buzzing on the energy in the room and grinning inside at the response of the children to her storytelling. The reworked version of this particular adventure had gone down well. For her next book she might test the stories on her class, even pass out a simple questionnaire to better refine the story.

“I always wanted to be a writer, from the time I was a little girl,” Katie said to begin the second half of her talk. “But I didn’t think an author was something that ordinary people like myself became. So because I loved children, I went into teaching.” She paced the dais, thinking about her next words. “I would have been happy doing that for the rest of my life. Then when I was twenty-five I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Even though it’s so rare at that age, there I was, getting chemo and radiation treatments.” She stopped moving and gazed out at the rows of mostly women and children. “It was pretty bad. The doctors, my family, everyone—including me—thought I was going to die.”

There was a rustling in the audience, a few low murmurs. She hoped the parents wouldn’t think her subject matter was inappropriate for the kids. From her experience children were matter-of-fact about life and death. As long as you were honest and didn’t try to sugarcoat the facts, they could handle almost anything.

She glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows, past the street and the parked cars to a row of gum trees stretching silver limbs into a blue sky. She still recalled how she’d felt after enduring the long months of surgery and debilitating treatments and finding herself still alive.

“Life is a gift.” She returned her gaze to her audience, now utterly silent. She smiled, wanting them to see how well and happy she was. “A gift to be treasured more than a pirate’s chest of gold and jewels. I didn’t die. I got better. The sun seemed to shine more brightly, the colors of the flowers were more vivid. Friends and family were more precious. Even now, years later, every day I wake up is a blessing.”

Katie walked back to the lectern and took another sip of water. This was a roundabout way of talking about her writing journey, but she couldn’t see how she could take a shortcut and still be authentic. Children and writing demanded honesty.

“From my illness I learned life was too short not to be true to yourself. I loved teaching but I still had a dream of being a writer. How would I feel if I’d been given this second chance at life and at the end of it, I had regrets for what I hadn’t done?” Her voice vibrated and she held out her hands, inviting a response from the audience. A few heads nodded.

“After I recovered I vowed I’d never again put anything on hold. As soon as I felt well enough, I started to write. Soon I was hooked. Storytelling became my passion. After I went back to teaching, I wrote in my spare time. It was as if all my life I’d been waiting to discover what I really wanted to do—tell my own stories.”

A young girl, about seven years old, put up her hand. “Are you Lizzy? Is that what you mean by your own stories?”

“That’s a good question. I am like Lizzy in some ways.” Katie walked slowly across the dais as she thought out her answer. “When I was younger I had a friend who reminded me of a cheeky, mischievous monkey. He made me challenge myself. To climb trees and cliffs, to swim over my head in the ocean, to be brave enough to take risks.”

But when she’d taken a life-and-death risk he didn’t approve of—not getting a double mastectomy—well, he couldn’t handle that. Which was really unfair considering he regularly risked his life with surf and sharks.

“When this boy and I ventured out together I never knew how the day was going to pan out. As we got older we went rock climbing, paragliding, even bodysurfing at Gunnamatta Beach. It was always something a bit dangerous.”

“Weren’t you scared?” a boy called out.

“Often I was frightened out of my wits. But I did it, anyway. Que sera sera.” She spread her hands wide. “Whatever will be, will be. We can’t plan our lives completely. Sometimes we have to trust that things will work out.”

Take her writing, for example. She’d thrown herself into it, not worrying whether or not she got published. Lo and behold, after years and a lot of hard work, she’d sold her first book. Before her cancer she’d been a planner and a rule follower. A perfectionist, she liked being in control of her life. It had taken facing her own mortality to know that control wasn’t possible all the time. She’d given herself permission to break free, to be more spontaneous. Because you never knew what was coming around the next bend.

“Even with that belief, I don’t take chances with my health,” she added. “I’m very careful with my diet, only eating organic, whole foods, mostly vegetarian. I see my naturopath regularly and I take special dietary supplements.” Some blank faces stared at her. Laughing, she waved a hand. “But you don’t want to know all that.”

“Do you still have adventures with your Monkey man?” a brunette woman asked, a small smile playing over her lips.

O-kay. That was striking too close to the bone. Some of these people might know that she and John Forster had grown up together and been engaged and put two and two together.

“I have my own adventures nowadays. I’ve been in remission for six years but my gratitude for being alive hasn’t faded. I regularly take what I call Adventure Days. I get in my car and tootle off down the coast road, heading south on the peninsula. I take my camera and notebook, my hiking shoes and rugged clothing. I’m ready for anything but with no plans whatsoever.”

Mostly, though, she found a quiet spot to walk, read and take photos. Maybe write a little. Pretty tame, really. “Any more questions?”

“Where do you get your ideas?”

From memories of her times with John. They’d had so many wonderful experiences together. She didn’t know what she would do when they ran out. Her own adventures were all solitary ones.

“Don’t tell anyone, but…” She cupped a hand around her mouth and spoke in a stage whisper. “I have an idea tree in my backyard. When I need a new one I go outside and pick it.”

An appreciative chuckle ran through the audience. Katie used that to springboard into talking about her writing habits, the way she organized her office, the books she’d loved in childhood. It was a relief to move on to less personal topics.

She worried she may have inadvertently given a wrong impression that she still took part in dangerous activities. Truth was, she hadn’t done anything risky in years, not since John. Why was that? Had she gotten scared or just lazy? Or was she simply not the adventurous person she liked to think she was? Maybe she’d only done those things because he’d pushed her and without him she was a wuss.

She didn’t like that thought. John didn’t rule her life. She’d proved that when she’d had cancer and they’d disagreed on her treatment. She’d stuck to her guns on no mastectomy. He couldn’t handle that and had abandoned her. That’s when she’d realized she had to rely on herself.

She wanted to be strong. She didn’t want to be sedentary and soft. She needed to push herself. And she would. As soon as she thought of something exciting to do.


CHAPTER TWO

A ROOSTER CROWED. John sat up and stretched, his back sore from the thin mat in the unmarried men’s quarters of the family compound. He’d booked a hotel room down the road then decided he wanted a closer look at how Tuti was living and make sure she was okay. In the bigger towns Balinese life approximated a Western lifestyle. Here in this remote fishing village time seemed to have stood still for the past fifty years.

Nena’s two teenage nephews, with whom he shared the small hut, had already risen and left. Their mats were rolled and stacked against the wall. Just inside the open door was a tray with a teapot and a plate of fresh tropical fruits. He was being treated like an honored guest.

He pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, poured himself a cup of fragrant, fresh ginger tea, and stood in the doorway looking onto the courtyard of the walled compound. Grouped around the outer wall were separate rooms for sleeping, cooking and storage. Judging by the grunts he’d heard from next door, accommodation for pigs, as well.

Ketut, Wayan’s wife, was sweeping the ground clean of leaves and bits of palm frond and flowers left over from the funeral offerings. She glanced over and smiled at him but made no move to talk. That suited him just fine. After yesterday’s exotic festival of people, color, noise—and yes, too much rice wine—he needed time to himself.

He carried the plate of fruit and his copy of Lizzy And Monkey out to the bale shaded by a thatched roof in the center of the courtyard. He sat, crossing his legs on the woven mat that covered the raised platform, and reached for a slice of papaya. The compound was peaceful, with a pleasant smell of wood smoke from the cooking fire. A slender young woman in a sarong lit incense sticks on a small shrine in a shady corner. Chickens scratched in the dust at her feet.

Wayan was a fisherman, but from what John could see, the women did most of the work. The men saved their energy for religious rituals and chatting over a glass of rice wine in the evening.

Tuti came through the ornate stone gate that guarded the entrance to the compound. Her hair was again in pigtails and she wore a pink T-shirt and pink shorts. The toddler was once again glued to her hip, which couldn’t be good for Tuti’s back. But these people were strong, used to doing manual labor from an early age.

She was halfway across the courtyard when she saw him sitting in the bale. She paused, uncertain. He motioned to her. Obediently she walked over, adjusting the baby, a little girl with wisps of black hair and a drooly smile.

John held the baby while Tuti climbed onto the bale. She took the child back and nestled her between her crossed legs. When he offered her a piece of mango she gave it to the toddler.

“How are you this morning?” he asked.

Tuti smiled shyly, leaving him unsure whether she’d understood him or not.

From his wallet he took out a photo of himself and Nena, a shot of them perched on stools at an outdoor bar on Kuta Beach. He wore a T-shirt and board shorts and had his arm around her. Her black hair was cut short, Western-style, and she wore a yellow dress.

He showed Tuti the photo, watching her face to see if she recognized her mother. And him. She glanced up, her eyes speaking a question.

“Yes, that’s your mother—Meme.” Tuti nodded. He pointed to his photo and then at himself. He started to say, bapa—father—then changed it to, “Nama saya John.” My name is John.

The feeling of connection with her was persisting—growing even—but he hadn’t come here intending to claim her. And if he wasn’t claiming her there was no point in telling her he was her father. He’d talked to Wayan about this when he’d first arrived and Tuti’s uncle had agreed.

It felt surreal even having such talks. He and Wayan had also discussed setting up a bank account for Tuti’s support payments so Wayan and Ketut could continue to care for her. Was that enough? It didn’t feel like enough. He was Tuti’s only living parent. But what was the alternative? Move here and look after Tuti? That wasn’t going to happen. Bring her back to Australia to live with him? How could he rip her away from her home and the only family she knew to bring her to a foreign country?

Yet it felt wrong to just go away and leave her behind. Tuti was his family. Family was a big part of who he was. He was close to his parents and his sisters and he loved spending time with his nieces and nephews, teaching them to swim, playing cricket with them on the beach.... They would all adore Tuti.

Tuti stared at the photo of her mother for a long time. Reluctantly she held it out to him. John shook his head and gently pushed it back. “You keep.”

She smiled again, her eyes shining. She understood the meaning of his gesture if not the words. John couldn’t help but grin back. With her jaunty pigtails and dimpled smile she was cute as a button. He set his teacup on the platform and brought out Katie’s book. Tuti edged closer, to peer over his arm. Not wanting to hand it to her while she was holding the sticky baby, he opened to the title page and showed her the inscription Katie had written.

“Bukuh for Tuti,” he said in pidgin Balinese, pointing to her name. She have him a half smile, half frown, clearly not understanding. Later he would get Wayan or Ketut to explain.

He read the story aloud, letting her look at the illustrations as long as she liked before he turned each page. He wasn’t sure how much she understood but she listened attentively and more than once laughed, whether at the story or the pictures, he couldn’t tell.

“Do you go to school?” he asked.

Clearly recognizing the word “school,” she nodded vigorously, her face lit. In a flurry of movement she handed him the toddler and scrambled off the bale. John held the tot in one arm, keeping the book away from her sticky, grasping fingers with the other.

On the ground, Tuti reached for the baby. “Come. School.”

John slid off the bale and, with the book tucked beneath his arm, he followed Tuti out of the courtyard and down the stone steps to the narrow potholed street.

High on the hillside, set among lush vegetation, a hotel looked out on the ocean. Across the road was an open-air restaurant with just a few rickety tables and a languid ceiling fan stirring the hot air. The village straggled along a mile or so of coastal road, small houses interspersed with homestays for tourists and a few small shops selling dry goods, fresh produce and, outside, liters of gasoline in glass bottles.

Tuti hurried down the road, glancing over her shoulder to make sure John was following. Between buildings, through banana trees and bougainvillea and coconut palms, he glimpsed the curving sweep of a black sand beach. A ragged fleet of outrigger fishing boats with their triangular sails was returning with the morning’s catch. At a cleared lot John paused to watch as one boat landed. The fishermen hopped out and, joined by other men waiting on the beach, dragged the wooden hull up the sand.

Tuti tugged on his hand, impatient with his interest in what to her was everyday life. Her destination was nearby, a squat cement building covered in chipped green paint. She walked up to the doorless opening. “School,” she said proudly.

John kicked off his flip-flops and ducked his head to step over the threshold. A table and a chair for the teacher were at the front of the room next to a blackboard on an easel. A woven mat covered the floor, presumably for the children to sit on. An old tin can held stubs of pencils and a plastic basket contained perhaps a dozen dog-eared notebooks. There weren’t any desks, or books, or posters depicting the alphabet or the multiplication table, much less anything as expensive as a computer.

He was surprised at how small and ill-equipped the school was. In Bali, elementary school, at least, was compulsory and free. And he’d seen large, modern schools in some of the bigger towns. But Tuti’s village was tiny and remote and no doubt couldn’t attract the government funding needed for a bigger school.

Tuti bounced on her bare feet, wanting his approval.

John forced a smile. “Good. Very nice. Tuti go to school here?”

She nodded, her grin widening, and held up a finger. “One…year.” She sifted through the notebooks and found hers, showing him rows of wobbly Balinese script.

His stomach hollowed. Tuti was so eager to learn, so proud of her tiny school with its acute lack of facilities. How much learning could she do here? Read and write, add and subtract, that seemed to be about it. When he got back to Summerside he would see about sending books, stationery, laptops, whatever he could afford to improve the situation.

Tuti quickly ran out of things to show him. A few minutes later he emerged from the school to see Wayan coming up the path from the beach. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt and shorts wet around the cuffs, and carried a woven fishing basket on his shoulder.

“Morning,” John called to Wayan. “Did you have a good catch?”

Tuti, seeing the grown-ups were going to talk, ran back up the road to the compound.

“Yes. Good.” Wayan’s wide grin showed a gap where a tooth was missing. He lowered the basket and lifted the lid. Half a dozen fish, not much longer than his hand, flopped feebly against a wet palm frond.

John didn’t know what to say. If this was a good catch he’d hate to see a bad one. He’d surfed in Bali for years, taking advantage of cheap holidays without giving much thought to the locals who were doing it tough. Nena must have hidden how little money she had, out of pride or embarrassment. It saddened and shamed him that he didn’t even know which.

“Tuti showed me where she goes to school,” he said, to avoid talking about the fish. “It seems…” he paused, trying to be diplomatic “…small. Is there a larger school in a nearby town, somewhere with more facilities? I’ll pay for her fees and transportation. Books, whatever she needs.”

Wayan spit in the dust at the side of the road. “Tuti not go to school now. Not important. She stay home and help with the children.”

“What?” John was stunned. “But…she has to go to school. To learn to read and write.”

“Nena give us money from her job. Now she is gone, Ketut must get a job in the hotel. Tuti look after the baby.” Wayan hoisted the basket on his shoulder and trudged off.

John stared after him. And that was that? No discussion? No exploration of Tuti’s options? Just shut down her life at the age of six so she could be a babysitter? What would happen to that smart little girl with a thirst to learn, who would never have an opportunity to improve her lot in life? Nena, he knew, would never have allowed that to happen. In their brief, irregular email exchanges over the years she’d been full of hope and plans for Tuti to go to high school, maybe college.

He couldn’t let her stay here. But how could he take her away? Wayan and Ketut were good people who would love and care for Tuti as if she was their own. They had little of material value to offer her but they would surround her all day, every day, with loving familiar faces and a home that held a million memories of her mother. Uncle Wayan and Auntie Ketut would be able to tell Tuti stories about her mother as she grew, keeping Nena’s memory alive.

What could he give Tuti besides the advantages of an education, good health care and a high standard of living? Okay, that sounded pretty good. But was it enough? He had no wife to soften the edges of his bachelor existence. And there was no one on the horizon. Would material advantages make up for the family life Tuti would have to give up in Bali?

He couldn’t imagine not being geographically close to his parents and his sisters. To him, the close-knit family life he’d grown up with was as solid an advantage as school. These days the traditional family with mum, dad and two-point-two kids was more of an ideal than a reality but what was the point of ideals unless you aspired to them? Despite the steady stream of women through his life, he did aspire to the dream of a white picket fence. Whether he would find it in time to benefit Tuti was another matter entirely.

But he had his own family to offer her. He knew they would love her and accept her. She might be sad at leaving Bali in the short term, but now that he knew her future here was so limited he had no choice.

Tuti was coming home with him.

He was acting on instinct, but the immediate relief he felt told him he’d made the right decision.

That evening he spoke to Wayan and Ketut about his plan.

Ketut gazed at the ground unhappily.

Wayan said, “Tuti is all we have left of Nena, my sister.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But she’s my daughter.” He paused and added delicately, “I will continue the support payments in Nena’s honor.”

Wayan shrugged as if to say that was beside the point. Then he and Ketut talked between themselves in Balinese. They seemed to be disagreeing. John held his breath. Which side would win out?

Finally, Wayan held up a hand. “Tuti go to Australia. Get an education like Nena wanted.”

“She will visit us?” Ketut added hopefully.

“Yes, every year,” John said, ready to promise anything. He had the right to take her but he wanted their blessing. After further discussion, Wayan and Ketut decided that a cousin from another village would be brought in to help with the baby.

John didn’t say anything to Tuti at first, either about being her father or about taking her to Australia. He wanted her to get to know and trust him.

He contacted the Australian Embassy in Jakarta, filled out a bunch of forms and paid extra for expeditious processing of Tuti’s immigration documents. Luckily he had holiday time saved, a sympathetic district superintendent and reliable deputies in Riley and Paula.

Over the next three weeks, while he waited for Tuti’s visa, he gave her English lessons and taught her how to swim. While her uncle was a fisherman and they lived in a coastal village, Tuti, like most Balinese, was a novice in the water.

The day Tuti learned to float on her back, John decided it was time. When they got back from the beach, he joined Wayan on the shaded bale for tea. Tuti started to skip off to the kitchen. John called her back and asked Wayan to explain to her in Balinese that he was her father. Wayan spoke softly at length. When he was finished, Tuti turned to John.

“Bapa?” she repeated, her small forehead wrinkling.

Wayan nodded and said something else in their language.

John smiled encouragingly. It must be hard for Tuti to accept that he, a stranger from a far-off country, was her father. But she took it calmly, almost fatalistically, once she understood. Nena had assured him long ago that she intended to tell her daughter he was a good man. She must have lived up to her promise.

“Ask her if she’d like to come with me and live in Australia,” John said to Wayan. “She can go to school and swim in the ocean. She’ll have her own room and make new friends.”

Wayan conveyed the information. Tuti’s face lit at the first few words. She nodded, her eyes shining. “Yes!”

John gave her a hug. He’d had her at the word “school.”

* * *

KATIE CARRIED a cup of coffee into her home office, the master bedroom of her two-bedroom house. She slept in the second bedroom because the master was bigger and could accommodate both her artwork and her writing.

The easel that she used to create the acrylic paintings that illustrated her books stood in front of the window to take advantage of natural light. Against the far wall a table was littered with palette, brushes and paints. On the other side of the room she’d set up her computer, bookshelves and a whiteboard to scrawl ideas on. People thought that just because there weren’t a lot of words in a children’s book they mattered less. But the truth was, that made each one matter more.

She slid into her chair and powered up her computer. Lizzy and Monkey were stuck in a swamp where a crocodile was about to eat them. Generally Monkey got the pair into scrapes and Lizzy got them out. This time, however, Lizzy had followed a colorful parrot into the swamp and gotten them lost.

Like all her stories this one had a basis in reality. Years ago she and John had gone out walking after a heavy rain. After hiking through the muddy terrain for a couple of hours, Katie had had enough. Ignoring John’s warning against leaving the path, she’d taken what she thought was a shortcut and had gotten lost. Too stubborn to give up, she’d led them deeper and deeper into the bush.

Thinking about John led her to wonder about Tuti. Who was this girl who lived near a jungle? He liked kids. Maybe in lieu of the family they’d planned he’d sponsored a child. Or maybe Tuti was the daughter of friends he’d made in Bali. She knew he went surfing over there every few years. Riley had told her John was in Bali now, on holiday.

It was strange that John had never married. According to Riley, these days he went out with party girls—the antithesis of who she was. Maybe if he settled down and had a family she would find it easier to move on. But the thought of John married to someone else made her chest constrict.

Which was so wrong because she was over him. The reason she hadn’t gotten serious with anyone else was because she didn’t have time for romance with her teaching and her writing.

Speaking of her writing…she needed to buckle down and get some work done. Lizzy was walking in circles while Monkey swung from branch to branch in the trees above her head, saying he told her so. How was she going to get Lizzy out of trouble? On that hike years ago, by sheer luck she’d stumbled on another path that led back to the parking lot. But luck wasn’t good enough. Lizzy had to triumph using pluck, resourcefulness and brains.

She wrote in a patch of clear sky so Lizzy could track the movement of the sun and figure out the compass points. That way, knowing the road lay to the west, Lizzy could navigate her way out of the swamp.

The phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hey, Katie,” Paula said. “Riley and I are going to try the new French restaurant in the village. Do you want to come?”

“What, now?” She was just getting into the zone.

“It’s six-thirty on Friday night. Not a bad time to get a bite to eat. What do you say? Jamie’s at a sleepover birthday party so I’m free, free, free.”

“You and Riley should enjoy a night to yourselves. I’d be a third wheel.”

“You’re never in the way. We want you to come. Please.”

Katie glanced at her watch. She would be lucky to make her daily word count and get to the gym before it closed. As well as a healthy diet, she’d adopted regular exercise as part of her rigorous regime aimed at achieving maximum health. “Thanks, but not this time. I have too much to do.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you work too much?”

“No,” Katie lied. John used to say that to her all the time.

She had to work, to keep writing proposals till another book sold. Her agent had sent out her latest several months ago. Every day she hoped to hear good news when she hurried to check the mailbox as soon as she got home from work. A new contract would add more pressure but without one…well, she wouldn’t be a real writer, would she?

She promised to meet Paula and Riley for coffee at the deli on Sunday morning and hung up. Not ten minutes passed before the phone rang again.

Groaning, she reached for the phone. “Hello?”

“Katie, glad I caught you,” Adele, her agent in New York, said rapidly. “Have you got a minute?”

Katie hit Save and sat up straight. “Have you heard something about my book proposal?”

“Have I heard something?” Adele brayed out a laugh. “Yes, but first I want to give you some news. Are you sitting down? I want you to be sitting down.”

Katie’s heart rate kicked up. News that was more important than the publisher’s response to her proposal? “I’m sitting. Go on.”

“Lizzy And Monkey debuted at number forty-three on the USA TODAY bestseller list.”

“Wow.” Katie forgot to breathe. “Just…wow.”

“You’re on to a winner,” Adele chortled.

“Does the publisher know? What did they say about my new idea? Did they like it?”

“Oh, I let them know about the bestseller list, don’t you worry. They want to buy your next book—”

“Oh, thank God!” She wasn’t going to be a one-hit wonder.

“Plus two more.”

“What?”

“They’re offering you a three-book contract.”

Katie’s mouth opened and closed. Light-headed, she blinked against the spots in front of her eyes. Then she realized she was holding her breath and let it out with a whoosh. “Three-book contract. That’s amazing. Are you sure?”

“You’d better believe it. The catch is, they want to release the books bang, bang, bang, to take advantage of your bestseller status and build your name.”

“Oh, Adele…” This was a far greater success than she’d ever dreamed of. Well, okay, she’d dreamed of hitting the lists but it had been a fantasy. She’d never actually thought it would happen. Now it had. Suddenly a whole new world was opening up to her. She wasn’t just a small-town grade-one teacher who dabbled in children’s stories. She was a writer.

Adele brought her down from the clouds. “Before you say yes, I want you to be sure this is what you want. I know you’re committed to your teaching. We’ve talked about your career goals and your workload. You only wanted to write one book a year. Are you going to be able to do three books in twelve months?”

“I—” Her chest tightened again. Could she write that quickly? Not just write, but paint the illustrations? Three books. She’d only plotted out one more book. Did she have that many stories in her?

“Do you want some time to think about it?”

She pressed a hand against her stomach and forced herself to breathe out. There was no way she was going to pass up such a golden opportunity.

“No,” she said firmly. “I can do it. I will do it.”

But as she hung up, her bubble of elation burst with a tiny pop. She’d given her word. Now she had to do it.

No, she wouldn’t give in to anxiety. Que sera sera. She, evidently, was meant to be a writer, and a prolific one at that. She laughed aloud, partly with nerves, partly elation. With three new stories to write she would have to have adventures of her own now.


CHAPTER THREE

JOHN BLINKED HIS EYES OPEN. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains. For a moment he lay spread-eagled across his king-size bed, savoring the sheer comfort of waking up in his own home. A cool, dry breeze drifted in through the open window, bringing with it the scent of pine and eucalyptus and the kookaburra’s laughing call.

Their plane had landed at ten last night and it had been after midnight before they’d gotten home. Tuti had fallen asleep in the car. He’d carried her in, still sleeping, in his arms and tucked her into the single bed in the spare room he used as a study.

Now he rose, remembered to put his track pants on, and walked barefoot down the hall to his study. He peeked in the door. The folding cot, crammed between a desk and a filing cabinet, was empty. On the floor, a black pigtail poked out of a bundle of blankets. Her feet were stuck between the legs of his computer chair.

He needed to make some big adjustments around here for Tuti to feel at home. Starting with getting her a proper bed and dresser and clearing space for her to put her things. Where, in his two-bedroom bachelor apartment he would move his computer and desk, he didn’t have a clue. Certainly not in his bedroom. Nothing quelled romance like a workstation next to the bed.

Romance? Huh. With no woman in his life at the moment he didn’t need to worry about that. Anyway, with Tuti around, for him to go out at night, come home late, sleep with a woman in his bed… It was simply out of the question. His love life wouldn’t come into contact with his daughter’s life until and unless he was serious about a woman.

Yep, his romancing days were over for the foreseeable future. Dead in the water at the ripe old age of thirty-five. Overnight he’d gone from being a carefree bachelor to single dad. This was going to be one helluva steep learning curve.

Tuti shifted in her sleep. Carefully, he pushed the chair back and crouched to touch her shoulder. She blinked sleepily. “Hey, Tuti. Why are you on the floor?”

She stared at him.

Because that’s where she was used to sleeping, dummy. “Do you want some breakfast?” Again a blank look. “Are you hungry? Food?” He mimed eating.

She sat up, the blankets falling away, exposing her bare arms in a thin T-shirt. Shivering, she pulled the blanket around herself.

“I’ll turn the heat on.” The room temperature was comfortable but after living in the tropics she was bound to feel the cold. “May I?” he asked, picking up her faded pink backpack to find her something warmer.

All her clothes were T-shirts and shorts. Her only shoes were a pair of flip-flops. Oh, man.

He showed her where the bathroom was then hunted out an old sweatshirt of his that she could wear like a dress and a pair of thick socks. When she was warm and had a bowl of cereal in front of her he sat down to make a list of all the things she would need.

Clothes. But what kind and how many of each item? What size? He had no idea of how to shop for a child. So he did what any red-blooded male would do. He picked up the phone and called his mother. “Hello, Mum? We’re back. Would you like to meet your granddaughter? Frankly, I could use advice.”

“Would I?” Alison Forster let out a sound that was half sob, half laughter. “I’ve been dying for you to get back. In fact, I’ve been waiting years for this day. It’s not the way I imagined it but… I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

John hung up the phone. His mother had raised three kids and regularly babysat his sisters’ children. She would know what to do.

Fifteen minutes later Alison Forster’s high heels tapped through the front door in a flurry of feminine excitement. She was all silk blouse, bouffant blond hair, loud voice and a cloud of perfume. In her bejeweled hands she carried bags loaded with dolls, a teddy bear, books and several outfits of warm clothing, including a pair of pink pants and long-sleeved top, socks and two pairs of running shoes.

“I didn’t know what size to get but figured I could always bring one pair back. Or take Tuti to the shop with me if neither of these fit. I hope you don’t mind me taking it upon myself to buy her some things, but when you rang a couple of weeks ago to say you were bringing her home, well, I just got carried away.” Alison glanced around. “Where is she?”

“I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I’m grateful.” John poked his head into the kitchen. “Tuti, come here, sweetheart. This is your grandmother.”

“Hello, darling,” his mother cooed and enveloped Tuti in a hug, squeezing her hard. “You can call me Nana. I know we’re going to be great friends. We’ll make cookies and go shopping and I’ll show you where I work—”

John winced as his mother prattled on. She had a huge heart but she could be overwhelming to people who weren’t used to her ebullient, extroverted style.

Tuti pulled out of Alison’s arms and took a step back. She glanced at John and took another step back.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “Don’t be shy.”

Alison held out a doll and tried to get Tuti to take it. “This is the latest toy, I’m told. All the little girls in Summerside have one. You want to be just like all the other children, don’t you?”

Tears started in Tuti’s eyes. She bit her lip then, without a word, turned and ran from the room.

“Oh, dear.” Alison’s manicured fingertips went to her lips. “What’s wrong? Doesn’t she like dolls?”

“You came on a tad strong.” John hadn’t realized until now how much his mother must want him to have children. She didn’t try this hard with his sisters’ kids. He was counting on her to ease him into fathering Tuti, to taking some of the burden of responsibility off him. If Tuti was afraid of her, that wasn’t going to work out so well. “It’s her first day. Give her time. She’ll get used to you.”

At least, that’s what he hoped. He glanced at the hallway down which Tuti had disappeared. Through work he dealt with juvenile offenders. On the other end of the spectrum were his nieces and nephews—well-adjusted children from loving homes, comfortable if not well-off, who all had two parents.

It brought home to him again how out of his depth he was with Tuti. Not only from another culture, speaking another language, but she’d recently lost her mother. Really, what did he know about raising a kid like Tuti?

“Thanks for the clothes and toys,” he said to his mother. “Help yourself to coffee. I’ll go talk to Tuti.”

He grabbed a teddy bear and some clothes and found her huddled beneath her blankets. Without a word, he handed the stuffed toy to her and waited, using the time to figure out how to explain the strange woman who’d hugged her too hard. He couldn’t remember, if he ever knew, the Balinese word for grandmother. After a few minutes Tuti emerged, her cheeks streaked with drying tears. She clutched the teddy bear to her chest and looked at him with huge dark eyes.

“The lady—” John pointed in the direction of the kitchen then at himself. “My meme.”

Tuti blinked.

“You’re my child,” John tried again. “I’m her child.”

Tuti looked blank.

He sighed. Should he insist she come out and be polite? He had no idea what child-rearing manuals would say about that. If Tuti were an Australian kid being obstinate, he would probably do just that. But she was far from home, cold, and this was her first day. Instinct told him not to insist on anything. He would make excuses to his mother and ask her to come another day.

“Never mind. Here, let’s put something warmer on you.” He pulled out the long-sleeved top. “Do you like pink?”

At the sight of the sparkly design on the front of the shirt Tuti got out of the blankets and stood before him, shivering. John helped her dress, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He’d blundered his way through this time. But if his mother couldn’t connect with Tuti what hope did he have?

* * *

“GET OUT YOUR notebooks and pencils, boys and girls.” Katie pointed to the carefully drawn alphabet on the blackboard. “Copy out the letters in your very best printing.”

Heads went down, paper rustled, several tongues were tucked into the corners of mouths as the class of grade-one students got down to work. With a few minutes of quiet Katie sat at her desk and corrected arithmetic assignments.

A knock came at the door. She opened it to John, wearing his police uniform and a grim expression. Her first thought was that something had happened to Riley, and she pressed a hand to her chest to ease a flutter.

He must have seen her anxiety. “There’s nothing wrong.”

“Thank goodness.” Her second fleeting thought, which bothered her in a different way, was how good he looked, his broad shoulders filling out a crisp blue shirt topped by epaulets, and his navy pants with the sharp crease emphasizing the length of his legs.

Then a movement at his side drew her gaze to a little girl clinging to his hand. She was dressed in the school uniform, a blue-and-white gingham dress, one size too big. Her black eyes were huge and terrified. Tear tracks traced her round cheeks. One of the tiny silver circles in her pierced ears was twisted up. And her little pigtails, which stuck straight out from her head, were lopsided and uneven.

Katie’s heart melted. Poor sweet thing. Had he found her wandering somewhere in Summerside and brought her to school? Why hadn’t he taken her to the office? “Who do we have here?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” John said. “This is Tuti. I tried to get here before class began so I could introduce you. But first I had to buy the uniform then I had to get her to wear it. She’s not used to hard leather shoes....” He trailed off with a harassed expression. “Tuti, this is Miss Henning. She’ll be your new teacher.”

Tuti. The girl who lived near a jungle. She looked like she could be Balinese. Had he brought this child to Australia for a visit? Why would he enroll her in school temporarily?

“I don’t understand,” Katie said. “Who is she?”

John cleared his throat and met her gaze. “Tuti is my daughter.”

She stared at him. Surely she hadn’t heard correctly. “Your…?”

“Daughter.” His hand on Tuti’s shoulder tightened protectively. “She’ll be six years old next month.”

Katie laughed, a slightly hysterical sound. She clapped a hand over her mouth, aware that her reaction was inappropriate. And must appear bizarre to her pupils, not to mention to Tuti.

“I don’t understand,” she said again. How could he have had a child without her? Idiot. Of course he could have. They broke up years ago. He’d left her. Since he’d returned to Summerside he’d never been without a girlfriend for long. He could have fathered a dozen children.

But how was it that she’d known nothing about this Tuti? Who was her mother and why had John brought her here? Did Riley know about her? Questions crowded her mind, confusing her. Emotions she didn’t understand made her chest ache. But this wasn’t the time or the place to try to make sense of things. The little girl already looked distressed.

Katie collected herself and forced a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, Tuti. Would you like to join the class?”

The little girl pressed closer to John and turned her face into his waist, her pigtails quivering.

“Does she speak English?” Katie asked.

“A little but she hasn’t said a word since she got here three days ago.” John’s eyes pleaded with Katie. “I’m sure she’ll get up to speed quickly but in the meantime she’ll need extra help.”

“I already have a full class—the administration knows that,” Katie said. “She’d be better off with Phoebe Mallon. Phoebe has another English-as-a-second-language student.”

“I asked specifically for you. Your assistant principal said it would be okay.” When Katie didn’t reply to that, he added, “I don’t know Phoebe Mallon. I know you. I know how much you love kids. I want someone who will care about her.”

Care about his child with another woman. Really?

Behind her, shifting chairs and whispers told her the pupils had finished their work and were getting restless. Probably curious, too, about the new girl. Dragging this out wouldn’t help Tuti. John was right about one thing. Katie loved children and she was a soft touch. She would make room for the girl in her class.

“I’m going to read the class a story, Tuti,” Katie said. “Do you like stories?”

Tuti stilled. Then she glanced up at John as if looking for confirmation.

He nodded. “Story…book.” He added to Katie, “We’ve just about worn out the pages on yours.” He turned back to Tuti. “Miss Henning is the lady who wrote Lizzy And Monkey.”

Tuti brightened a little.

John crouched so he was eye level. “I have to go to work, Tuti. I’ll come back for you this afternoon.” Her bottom lip wobbled. He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “Chin up,” he said, his voice gruff.

Seeing his awkward, tender display of affection, Katie felt a reluctant tug at her heart. Of course she’d always known John would be great with kids. He was a favorite uncle. It made sense he would be a natural as a father.

Tuti looked about to cry. To forestall the waterworks Katie held out her hand to Tuti. “Come with me,” she said warmly. “You can sit with Belinda.” She gestured to a girl with curly brown hair in the front row. Belinda liked to be teacher’s pet but Katie knew she would be kind and helpful. “Belinda, will you come and show Tuti where to sit for story time? Class, this is Tuti. Please welcome her.”

The students parroted, obediently if raggedly, “Welcome, Tuti.”

Belinda took Tuti’s hand, fussy and full of self-importance. “We have to get a chair and go sit in a circle. You can sit beside me.” Then she added in a whisper, “Don’t cry. It’ll be all right.”

The children got up and moved to the story circle at the back of the class, the girls talking, the boys pushing. Tuti followed Belinda, holding tightly to the other girl’s hand.

John ran a hand through his hair and blew out a heartfelt sigh. “Thanks. I appreciate this.”

“I’m doing it for Tuti.” Katie fixed him with a stern glance. “We’ll need to talk about how best to integrate her into the school community. Please see me this afternoon after class.”

John’s mouth twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

“This isn’t a joking matter.” She didn’t like being put on the spot. She didn’t like how John had taken advantage of their history. And she didn’t like that he’d had a child with another woman so soon after he’d left her. It didn’t take a math whiz to calculate that Tuti had been conceived within a few months of his departure. When she was still sick with cancer. He and Tuti’s mother must have been making love while she was lying in her hospital bed.

“Yes, I’ll do anything for my kids. But get one thing straight. You don’t know me.”

John’s lips flattened. “Whatever. As long as we’re on the same page with regards to Tuti. I’ll see you at three-thirty.”

He left and Katie turned back to her class. Belinda was chatting away seemingly oblivious to the fact that Tuti hadn’t said a word. Tuti glanced up at Katie, and across the room something tugged at Katie’s heart. Oh, no. No, no, no. She wasn’t going to fall for John’s little girl. She would do her best for Tuti as a teacher but that’s where it had to end. For seven years she’d avoided contact with him. The last thing she wanted was a reason to spend time with John Forster.

* * *

THE HALLS WERE empty when John returned to Katie’s classroom door that afternoon. Was she going to make him write out lines on the blackboard? I must not bring home foreign children.

Frankly, he wondered if he’d made a mistake in doing so. It was one thing to feel a familial connection to Tuti and another thing for a bachelor to make a home for a little girl he barely knew and couldn’t communicate with.

Last night she’d cried herself to sleep. He’d put it down to tiredness, homesickness and unfamiliar surroundings. He’d tucked her into bed with the doll his mother had brought, but when he’d checked on her in the night, again he’d found her rolled in a blanket on the floor. He’d carried her back to bed. In the morning she’d been back on the floor.

Breakfast this morning was another disaster. He couldn’t comb her hair into a proper pigtail to save his soul. He’d run out of cereal and she didn’t like toast with Vegemite, or bacon and eggs. In the end he’d found a mango in the back of the fridge.

She had been excited about going to school. Until, that is, she’d seen the huge building and the hordes of children in the playground. He couldn’t blame her for being shy—the population of the school was larger than her village—but he didn’t know how to deal with it. All his nieces and nephews were outgoing, gregarious kids.

He knocked on Katie’s classroom door. She was a quiet person. She must be able to relate to Tuti.

“Come in.” Seated at her desk, Katie was placing big tick marks in a notebook filled with printing practice. “Sit down.”

John glanced around for Tuti. She was curled up in a beanbag chair at the back of the room, her nose buried in a picture book. She glanced up, but he motioned for her to stay there while he spoke with her teacher. Gingerly, he lowered himself onto a chair made for a six-year-old, not a grown man, a tall one at that. Feeling ridiculous and at a distinct disadvantage, he waited while Katie finished the notebook she was marking.

She took her time, writing an encouraging note and adding a parrot sticker. Finally she put down her red pencil, closed the notebook and placed it atop the stack on her right. She folded her hands on her desk. “So.”

John could still recall his grade-one teacher. Mrs. Renwich had frizzy orange hair, wore glasses on a long chain that sat on her ample bosom and smelled like corned beef. Katie was the complete opposite. Silky dark hair that waved softly around her shoulders, a sweet floral scent, a ready smile and the kindest eyes he’d ever known. Right now she made him more nervous than Mrs. Renwich ever had.

He was still chafing over the way she had said he didn’t know her. True, it had been a long time since they’d been together, and she’d undoubtedly changed some. But how was he supposed to know her if she kept refusing to talk to him?

“How did Tuti do today?”

“There are issues. Before we get to those I’m interested in knowing what type of environment she’s come from. It will help me deal with her individual needs.” Katie lowered her voice. “Have you always known you had a child?”

Since he wanted her help with Tuti, he guessed she had a right to ask. John looked her in the eye. “Yes. I met Nena, that’s Tuti’s mother, a month into my stay in Bali back in—”

“I know what year you were there.”

He cleared his throat. Of course she did. Tuti’s birth date was on her enrollment form. Katie would have figured out her conception to the day. “Nena was a lovely person. We had a good time together, while it lasted. The baby wasn’t planned, but once Nena found out she was pregnant she wanted the child. What she hadn’t wanted was an Australian husband.”

He stopped, aware he was giving too much information, justifying himself, explaining more than necessary because of his and Katie’s past.

“Was a lovely person?” Katie said.

“Nena died in a motorcycle accident. That’s why I went to Bali, for her funeral. The women there sometimes ride sidesaddle—in sarongs. Often not wearing a helmet. Half the time hanging on to a kid or a basket of fruit or chickens. It’s—” He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s the way they do things there. It’s just lucky Tuti wasn’t with her at the time.”

Katie stared at her hands turning the red pen over and over. “You’re sure she’s yours?”

“Positive.” This had to be hard for Katie. They’d talked about having children together many times. Even got around to picking out names. Or he’d tried to. She could never agree with him on when they should start a family. Or even choose a wedding date.

“What made you decide to bring her home with you?”

“I had to.” John shifted position on the small chair with a grimace. The edge was digging into his butt. “When I went to Bali I fully intended to pay my respects, make sure she was provided for, and scram.”

“But?” Katie’s dark eyebrows rose.

“It wasn’t that simple. The day after the funeral she showed me where she went to school. It was little more than a shack, with no facilities. I asked her uncle, Wayan, to send her to school in a bigger town and I would pay. He told me she wouldn’t be going back to school. She was needed at home to look after her younger cousin.”

Katie frowned. “Aren’t there laws that say children have to attend school?”

“Yes, but they’re not always enforced. School is pretty hit-and-miss for some Balinese. Ex-pats and rich locals attend school regularly. The poor, not so much.”

“And is her family poor?”

“They weren’t too badly off when Nena was alive and contributing her paycheck. Wayan is a fisherman, but he barely catches enough to feed the family. Nena supported not only herself and Tuti, but helped support Wayan and his family. It’s not their fault. The old way of life based on farming and livestock has broken down, fish stocks are depleted and the people are dependent on tourism. But tourism has been down in recent years.”

“That’s rough.” Katie rubbed her thumb over her knuckles. “But do the monetary concerns outweigh the advantages of her living with a family she’s grown up with? Surely you could afford to plug the gap that Nena left and let Tuti stay there.”

“I’m keeping up payments to the family.” John blew out sharply through his nostrils. Katie didn’t want to know him, yet she thought she could tell him how to run his life. “I’ve made my decision. Which, I may add, is my decision to make.”

Katie tapped her pencil on the desk. “Decisions can be reversed if a mistake has been made.”

“I’m not going to chop and change the poor kid. She’s staying and that’s final.” John stopped himself from showing his frustration. Regardless of his feelings, he needed Katie on his side, for Tuti’s sake. “I hadn’t planned on bringing her back. But when I saw her—” If Katie didn’t want to know him anymore he wasn’t going to tell how Tuti had reminded him of himself as a child and of his mother. “I couldn’t leave her. She might not realize it now or for a few years, but someday she would think back and realize I’d just walked away from her. She would think she didn’t matter to me.”

Katie went still, her dark eyes simmering. “And now, after seven years, her existence does matter?”

Suddenly the air was charged with the memory of how he’d walked away from her. Didn’t Katie know that she’d been everything to him? Couldn’t she understand that he never would have left if she hadn’t pushed him away? They’d gone to the mat over her refusal to get a mastectomy, which he’d been told was the best option to ensure her long-term survival. Instead, she’d tried all sorts of crazy herbal treatments, hours of meditation, eating only raw organic food—he didn’t know what all—before finally accepting chemotherapy followed by a lumpectomy and radiation treatment.

Remembering Tuti was in the room, he glanced over his shoulder. She’d left the picture book and was playing with the class guinea pig, poking a sliver of carrot through the bars of the cage. He still didn’t know how much she understood and how much of her silence was due to her being overwhelmed by her new life. She seemed oblivious to the conversation.

“Seeing her in person tipped the scales,” he went on. “Until a few weeks ago she’s been…abstract. Nena had convinced me Tuti was better off if I wasn’t in her life at all rather than be a stranger who dropped in every once in a while.”

“Personally, I would agree with that.”

Katie sat there judging him when she had no idea. No idea. “Maybe it was better, maybe not. But once I’d met her, staying away wasn’t better for me. She’s—” He searched for the words. “She’s flesh of my flesh.”

Katie made a huffing sound.

His hands fisted on his thighs. “You wouldn’t understand, not having a child of your own.” Immediately he regretted that low blow.

Her eyes widened. White creases appeared at the sides of her mouth. “Oh, and you’ve been a parent for all of five minutes.”

“Don’t take that personally. I didn’t understand, either. I still don’t, not really.” He met Katie’s gaze. “All I know is, Tuti and I are connected. I couldn’t walk away and leave her.”

Katie dropped her gaze to the pencil in her hands. “And does Tuti feel that connection?”

“I don’t know. As I said, she doesn’t talk.”

“Which brings me to the issues I referred to earlier. Today she’s spoken not a word, not in English or Balinese. Her mother’s death must have traumatized her. Developmentally she’s taken a step backward.”

John shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s that.” He explained the Balinese attitude to death. “You should have seen her at the funeral. She wasn’t happy but she wasn’t overcome with grief either.”

“And are you an expert in a child’s way of dealing with grief? Her mother’s death might not sink in right away. She may need time to process. You should get her counseling.”

“How is that going to work if she won’t speak English?”

“Psychologists have ways of dealing with children who are pre-language,” Katie said.

“Isn’t that a specific set of parameters for sexual abuse situations?”

“Maybe that’s the side of child counseling you see in police work but there’s more to it than that. I’ll give you a name of someone.” She paused. “You do realize I hope that you can’t carry on with your life the way you always have. Kids need a parent to be there for them, especially when they’re coping with major life transitions. I recommend you take some leave from work, spend time getting to know Tuti, let her feel safe with you.”

“I have work commitments. A major drug investigation is underway—”

“What’s more important, police work or Tuti?”

If he said police work, all the arguments he’d just made for bringing Tuti home would be meaningless. But he couldn’t afford to take time off right now. Besides, he wasn’t going to let Katie dictate how he should handle his own daughter.

“I’ll think about it.” He rose. “Tuti, time to go home. Come.” John knew she understood the word. He tried to make it sound friendly, not an order. She left the guinea pig and started toward her locker at the back of the classroom. “I’ll touch base with you tomorrow,” he added to Katie.

He and Katie waited in awkward silence while Tuti gathered her lunch box and backpack. All these years he’d wanted an excuse to talk to her. He’d flirted and teased, partly because she wouldn’t have a conversation, partly because it was less painful than acknowledging they were finished, that there was nothing left, not even friendship. Now they had a real reason to talk to each other but it was fraught with tension.

No doubt Katie resented the fact that he’d had a child with someone else so soon after they’d broken up. Had she ever stopped to think how she’d made him suffer by making the choices she had? She’d been the one to throw away their future, not him.

“Did she like my book?” Katie asked at length.

“She loves it so much she takes it to bed with her.”

Katie’s face lit. “I’m glad.”

Once upon a time her smile had been like sunshine in his life. Now he looked away.

A small hand crept into his. Tuti gazed up at him, questioning. No matter how she’d struggled against wearing the school uniform, no matter how she’d refused to sleep in a bed, no matter that he had no idea how to deal with a six-year-old girl, not once had she rejected him. From the minute he’d hoisted her onto his shoulders at Nena’s funeral she’d trusted him. It was humbling. Yes, he was pretty certain she felt the connection, too.

He cleared his throat. “Tuti, can you say goodbye to Miss Henning? Selamat tingall.”

Tuti ducked her head.

“Goodbye for now.” Katie leaned down and hugged the girl. Tuti clasped her around the waist. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“We’re going to Springvale,” John said. “To pick up foods she’s familiar with from the Asian market.” Seeing Tuti and Katie embracing so affectionately, he added on impulse, “We’ll have dinner while we’re there. Would you like to come?”

Katie hesitated. For a moment he thought she might say yes. Then she shook her head. “I have work to do.”

“Okay, fine.” It was a dumb idea, anyway.

“You’re going to have to get used to being with her.”

“It’s not that…” He trailed away. It was, partly. He adored his daughter but he was floundering. Not that he was going to let Katie know that. “Come on, Tuti. Let’s go.”

Tuti smiled at Katie and gestured to her.

Katie smiled back and waved. “Goodbye.”

Tuti shook her head and motioned with her hand to her mouth as if eating.

“She must have understood what I said about dinner,” John said.

“And that you invited me. That’s good. The more English she understands the easier it’ll be when she starts to speak.”

Tuti put her hands together in the universal gesture of prayer or pleading. Above her steepled fingertips, her dark eyes danced merrily.

“She knows how to charm,” Katie said drily. “Must have got that from you.”

“Tuti, Katie is busy. You’ll see her tomorrow.” He tugged gently on her hand. Her shoulders slumped, but she allowed him to lead her out the door.

“Wait,” Katie said.


CHAPTER FOUR

“I’LL COME WITH you after all,” Katie said. By his own admission John knew nothing about children, much less little girls. “I’m an expert at buying the healthiest fresh ingredients. When cooking for kids, it’s important to have a balanced diet.”

John bristled at her comment. “I cook, too. A healthy meal isn’t all about googly berries and wheat grass extracts. Tuti won’t eat that crap.”

“Goji berries.” Katie, reaching for her cardigan and purse, stiffened. He had a blind spot when it came to her health choices. “I was only trying to help. By all means, go by yourself.”

Tuti’s gaze swiveled from Katie to John. Oh, dear. She might not understand every word but she could surely pick up on the tension. John had invited impulsively, and she’d accepted equally impulsively. They’d both made a mistake. But Tuti would be the one to pay.

John noticed Tuti tracking their exchange, too. “No, you’re welcome to come along,” he said grudgingly. “I’m sure between us we can get what she needs.”

Katie hesitated, then nodded. It was too late to back out now. She walked slightly ahead of John down the school corridor. This was her turf. Plus, she needed to maintain some distance. She’d vowed years ago never to go out with him again.

Yet here she was, helping him shop for his daughter. And joining him for dinner. She’d forgotten that part when she’d agreed to help buy groceries.

It was okay. She would handle it—for Tuti’s sake. The little girl ran up to her and took her hand. Katie took it with a smile. Her budding affection for Tuti was bittersweet. John hadn’t stuck with her to have the family they’d planned. She’d thought he loved her, believed he would be loyal, the way her father had been loyal to her mother when she’d had breast cancer. But no, John couldn’t handle her illness. He’d gone off and had a kid with someone else.

The fact that Tuti was unplanned didn’t make it better. Her mere existence hurt more than Katie could have imagined, almost as if she was being taunted by her own dream. Here she’d beaten cancer, made a great life for herself, written a book even. Yet the husband and children she longed for remained elusive. That husband should have been John. And Tuti should have been their child. But he wasn’t, and Tuti wasn’t. So much for her dream.

She went in John’s car since Springvale was thirty minutes away and it made no sense to go separately. The open area food hall was a maze of fruit and vegetable stalls, seafood, butchers and poultry. Most shoppers were Vietnamese, speaking in their own language. Tuti clung tightly to Katie’s hand.

John tried to take her hand, too. She let him but wouldn’t relinquish Katie’s hand so the three of them wound their way awkwardly through the crowded marketplace. Finally John gave up and let go.

Katie met his gaze. “Don’t take it personally. I’m her teacher.”

“But I’m her father.”

Katie wasn’t likely to forget. She could see traces of John in the girl. Not appearance necessarily, but his energy and humor, elements of his personality John seemed to have buried. He’d always been the wild one, an adventurer, blowing where the wind took him, with no clear pathway for the future. After high school he’d drifted in and out of various jobs. Surfing and Katie herself were the only constants in his life.

Then she’d gotten sick and he’d abandoned her to disappear for a yearlong surfing safari. When he came home he’d gone straight into police academy. Now he lived by rules, enforcing the law, demanding strict discipline of himself and his officers. Only his relationships with women were transient.

Since becoming a cop he’d had to become less spontaneous and more by-the-book. At least she’d gleaned as much from things Riley said. It was too bad. John’s zest for life was what had attracted her to him as a young teenager. How many days and nights had she spent mooning over her older brother’s hot friend?

She watched him move ahead, his shoulders broad and straight, hips lean and butt tight in navy uniform pants. She stifled a sigh. He was still hot. That hadn’t changed.

“This place looks good.” John stopped at a fruit stall and picked up a basket. “Just get a variety of produce.”

Katie got her own basket and as she put items in, she told Tuti the English name and got her to repeat the word. “You can do this wherever you go,” she said to John. “Also, let her watch kids’ TV programs like Sesame Street where they teach the letters and numbers.”

“Maybe I should hire a private tutor.” John inspected a papaya, sniffing it for ripeness. “Are you interested?”

“Me?” Katie gave Tuti a plastic bag and pointed to a display of apples. “Apples. Can you get me six apples?” She held up six fingers. “Six apples.”

Tuti carefully placed an apple in her bag without repeating the words. Hopefully she just needed time to adjust and then she would speak.

Katie turned back to John. “I have a job. In fact, I have two jobs, teaching and writing. I’ve just been offered a new contract for three more books.”

John whistled. “Did you accept?”

“Subject to negotiations between my agent and publisher, but yes, I’ve committed to doing the books. So I won’t have a lot of spare time.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s wonderful that your writing is taking off. But don’t you think you’re taking on an awful lot considering you’re also teaching full-time? You’re not going to have much of a life.”

What did he know? How dare he make comments on the way she conducted herself. He was no model of appropriate behavior. “I have a good life,” she said, glaring at him. “It will only be better now that I have a chance of fulfilling my dream to be a writer.”

John faced off with her across the mangoes. “Do you go out? Riley says you don’t. When was the last time you had a boyfriend?”

“When was the last time you had a girlfriend that lasted for more than a month or two?” she shot back. He had no right to be chastising her about her social life. If she went out too little, he went out too much.

“Leave my girlfriends out of this. We’re talking about you, not me. Anyway, I’m not with anyone at present.”

“I’m sure that won’t last—” Katie glanced around, suddenly remembering the reason for this conversation. “Where’s Tuti?”

“She’s with you. Isn’t she?” John swiveled on his heels, looking behind him. “Tuti?”

“You’re her father. You’re supposed to keep an eye on her.” Neither of them were used to watching out for a child. “Tuti! Where are you?”

“She can’t have gone far. We only looked away for a few seconds.” He pushed through the milling shoppers, moving past the tall fruit bins toward the section of the store that shelved canned goods. “Tuti!”

A flutter of panic ran through her. A few seconds. Was it? Katie hadn’t really been paying that close attention. She was used to dealing with children in the controlled environment of a classroom.

She headed in the opposite direction to John, her gaze raking the shop. Small dark-haired children accompanying their parents were plentiful. But no little girl in a blue-and-white gingham dress with pigtails that stuck straight out from the sides of her head. No little girl with a dimpled smile and sparkling eyes.

“Katie!” John waved at her from the fruit and veggie section. “She’s here.”

Katie hurried to join him. “How did we miss her?”

Tuti was squatting on the floor, her knees up around her pigtails, industriously filling a plastic bag with onions. Beside her were two more bags filled with a mixture of apples, oranges and lemons. Seeing John and Katie standing over her, she smiled proudly and held up her bag to show them.

Katie breathed out, relieved to have found the girl. But her heart sank seeing the bags of mixed fruit and vegetables instead of the six apples she’d asked Tuti for. The girl definitely needed her help.

The question was, at what cost to her, given that she would have less time to spend on her writing? More importantly, how would she cope emotionally with regular contact with John? She couldn’t spend an afternoon in his company without getting either annoyed or feeling attracted, despite their many issues. She wasn’t sure which emotion bothered her the most.

* * *

JOHN CHASED THE last few grains of fried rice around his plate with chopsticks. Katie was gamely making her way through a huge bowl of Vietnamese noodle soup. Tuti had finished her meal and was dangling a toy cat for a baby in a high chair at a neighboring table.

His flare-up with Katie earlier bothered him. For the past half hour they’d been too busy eating to speak. Now that the meal was over the atmosphere had become stifling. But Tuti looked so happy he didn’t have the heart to drag her away.

He poured more Chinese green tea into their tiny cups, nodding to Tuti and the baby. “She must miss her niece in Bali. She used to carry that kid around on her hip wherever she went.”

Katie took a sip of tea, holding the hot cup by the rim. “Maybe you should go back to Bali and father another child to give her a brother or a sister.”

He gave her a hard stare. “That’s unworthy of you.”

Katie blushed and grimaced. “Sorry. That was uncalled-for. But you have to admit, the timing of Tuti’s conception sucks.”

“Trust me, I won’t be having another kid in a hurry. It’s hard enough looking after one kid let alone two.”

Katie’s eyebrows went up. He clamped his mouth shut, wishing he hadn’t let slip he was having trouble being an instant dad. When Riley had fallen in love with Paula and found a son in Paula’s boy, Jamie, he’d been frankly envious of his friend’s happiness and new family. Now he wondered how Riley played his role as father to Jamie with such ease. Then again, Jamie was born Australian and Paula was responsible for most of Jamie’s care.

“I guess kids cluttering up your bachelor pad will cramp your style with the ladies.”

Where did she get this impression he was some kind of lothario? Was it Riley? He was going to have to speak to his mate. “Can you stop with the cracks about my so-called bachelor pad? It’s just a modest town house.”

“From what I hear it’s got a revolving bedroom door. You can’t bring a stream of women through with Tuti there.”

“I’ve had one girlfriend, Trudy, in the past six months. I’m not with her anymore.” Probably a good thing. He had a hard time visualizing the party girl in a maternal light. “I did go out with another woman, Deborah, once or twice but I haven’t seen her since I came back from Bali and don’t intend to. Although, frankly, it’s none of your damn business.”

“You asked for my help with Tuti. I’m simply giving you my expert opinion.”

“Did I ask for your opinion on my lifestyle? I’ve already figured out it will have to change.” He leaned in to give her a wolfish grin. “Unless your interest in my love life means you’re angling to become the next woman in the revolving door.”

She rolled her eyes. “While we’re having this heart-to-heart, you can stop flirting with me at every opportunity. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Every opportunity? That would be once every three months when I run into you by accident at the pharmacy or something.”

“That’s four times a year too many.” She frowned, tapping her chopsticks on the table. “I can’t help Tuti on an ongoing basis if I feel uncomfortable around you.”

Did that mean she was considering tutoring his daughter? John smartened up and got serious. “I didn’t realize my innocent, lighthearted comments were so offensive.”

“They’re cheap, throwaway passes. Superficial, the way you are now.” A flash of pain crossed her face. “Talk like that diminishes what we used to have.” Then she sat back and pushed her empty bowl away. “Not that I care anymore.”

Superficial—him? Well, that was news. He had interests, as much as anyone else. Okay, it had been a while since he’d been surfing. He didn’t have time what with keeping Summerside safe from criminals and all. If she was talking about the women he went out with, well, they weren’t into settling down. That’s why he chose them.

“I had no idea I upset you so much,” he said stiffly. “I don’t know how else to communicate with you. You refuse all overtures. You won’t be friends and talk naturally—”

“Friends?” she cut in. “How can we be friends after what you did?”

“After what I did? How about what you did?” He leaned forward. “Or should I say, didn’t do?”

“You wanted me to cut off both my breasts,” she hissed. “I was right not to, as it turned out.”

“That’s still a matter of opinion. Yes, you survived and beat the cancer but what evidence do you have that your natural remedies actually worked?”

She spread her arms wide, indicating her fit, healthy body. “The evidence is sitting before you.”

She looked good, no question. She always looked good to him, even when she was bloated and her hair had fallen out.

“What if you were to have a recurrence?” She turned her gaze away. He pushed harder. “Would you do anything different?” Still she didn’t say anything. “What makes you think you’d be lucky a second time?”

“You don’t understand anything.” She glanced back, her voice trembling. “If I’d had my breasts removed I wouldn’t have been able to nurse our children.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, they wouldn’t even have children if she wasn’t alive. He stopped himself. She would never admit she was wrong. If he kept pressing her for an acknowledgment that her choice of treatments hadn’t been the safest, or reacted to her accusations about how he’d hurt her, they would keep on fighting.

“Can we please move on?” Katie added.

He was reluctant—they were talking, really talking, for the first time in years. And as far as he knew there was a chance she couldn’t even have kids after going through chemo. But he didn’t want to fight Katie, he never had. Now more than ever he wanted to be friends. Having Tuti come to live with him and seeing Katie again had stirred his old dreams of a home and family. It was probably wishful thinking but maybe if Katie got to know him again, if they could get past the old stuff, they might have a chance.

The way to her heart was through Tuti. Katie loved kids and she liked to be needed. And God knows, Tuti needed her. His family, while they were willing to help with Tuti, didn’t have Katie’s teaching skills. Plus their time was limited. His mother was willing to babysit when she could but she worked, writing a column for the local newspaper. Same went for his sisters, one a lawyer, the other running a café. He could hire a tutor but in spite of Katie’s claim that he didn’t know her any longer, he did know she had the patience and the resolve and the dedication Tuti needed. Tuti was in a foreign country with foreign customs and limited English. She was overwhelmed and the more familiar faces he could give her, the better it would be. So yes, for all those reasons, Katie did top his list of potential tutors.

The family at the next table was getting up to leave, strapping their baby into a stroller. Tuti would be back any second. John wanted a positive connection with Katie so they wouldn’t go back to being formal with each other. He took a breath and summoned the kind of courage that didn’t get exercised much on the police force.

“It hurts that you don’t want to know me.” The epithet “superficial” especially had stung. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I promise I won’t try to flirt with you again. I’m not asking to take up where we left off.” Yet. “But I would like to be friends.”

There, he’d said it. If she turned down his friendship after all that groveling, he would move away from Summerside and never come back. “So…?”

“You’re only saying this because you want my help with Tuti.”

“I do want your help. I don’t deny that. But that’s not why I’m flaying myself before you. If you don’t have time for her then I’ll figure something else out. But just don’t…cut me dead when I meet you on the street. Don’t leave a party the minute I arrive. Say ‘good day’ like you mean it. Have a coffee with me now and then.” He felt his throat catch and cleared it. “It’s not a lot to ask.”

“I’m sorry.” Her hands clasped tightly around her teacup. “I wasn’t aware I was that mean to you.”

“Well, you are. People comment.”

“I’ll try not to do it again.” She sucked in a breath, regained her composure. “So, do I have your word—no flirting? No innuendo? No double entendres?”

He grimaced. Had he really been that louche? “None of that. If only you’ll give Tuti extra help to bring her up to speed.”

Katie tilted her head to one side. The curve of her breasts beneath her draped blouse rose and fell as she thought about it. His mind drifted in an inappropriate direction. Damn it all. He was a man. He couldn’t help the way his body reacted. She could ask him to keep his mouth shut but she couldn’t control his thoughts.

But he would learn to stay quiet. The comments were more a nervous reaction than anything he really wanted to say to her, anyway. If she actually conversed with him like he was a decent human being then maybe he could respond in kind.

Tuti slid back onto her chair next to Katie and smiled up at her teacher. The little girl couldn’t have made a more timely entrance if she’d been scripted. But that just ratcheted up the tension. Katie wouldn’t like feeling pressured from two sides.

John sat back and glanced away, as if it wasn’t a big deal if she tutored his daughter or not. When, in truth, her continued presence in his life had become of paramount importance to him in a very short space of time.

* * *

KATIE WOULD LOVE to help Tuti. But she’d agreed to write three books this year. Plus, she was teaching full-time. And spending time with Tuti would inevitably mean spending time with John. Sure, he’d promised to curb his teasing and flirting but that didn’t mean she wanted to be his new best friend. He’d hurt her. Badly. Tuti’s very existence was a constant reminder of the extent of his betrayal.

But Tuti needed her in the here and now, and that was bigger than Katie and John’s unhappy past. In only a day Tuti had made her way into Katie’s heart with her shy smile and sparkling eyes. Somehow she would find the time to teach, write and tutor Tuti. As for John, she could be friendly without getting involved. “I’ll do it.”

“Really?” John said, sitting forward. “Thank you.”

“But you have to reinforce my teaching,” Katie said. “That involves reading to her every night, talking to her as much as possible, explaining things.”

“I can do that.”

“Even if she doesn’t understand every word you say, the meaning will gradually sink in. Children pick up languages easily. Tuti seems very bright.”

Tuti’s gaze was flicking from Katie to John.

“I’m going to give you extra time after class, just you and me,” Katie said, and Tuti beamed up at her. To John, Katie added, “The school will provide a teacher’s aide. We should be able to bring her up to speed in a few months.”

“I really appreciate this. Let me know what days and times are good for you and I’ll arrange to be home.”

“That’s not necessary,” Katie said quickly. A cozy threesome at John’s house felt a little too similar to a family unit for her comfort. With anyone else she wouldn’t have even thought that, but with John she didn’t want any reminders or allusions to what they might have had.

“I’ll take her home with me after school a couple of days a week then drop her off at your place when we’re done.” Katie reached for her purse among the bags of produce at her feet. “I need to get back. Are you ready to go?”

On the return trip to Summerside Katie pointed out trees, cars and houses to Tuti. The girl listened attentively at first then gradually lost interest to play with her doll.

Katie fell into silent contemplation. Had she really cut John dead at parties? Walked out of the room when he walked in? It wasn’t always about him, although she would never get used to seeing him with his arm around another woman. She simply wasn’t a party person, preferring small groups of close friends. If she was invited to a large gathering, she put in an appearance then often left when the night was still young. She winced to think how others might view her behavior. Riley sometimes gave her a hard time for being standoffish but she put that down to her brother’s not-so-secret wish that his best mate and his sister would get back together.

Katie glanced sideways at John, one hand draped over the steering wheel, a slight frown creasing his brow as he gazed at the road ahead. So what if she did snub him? He’d left her to die and gone surfing.

It didn’t get much worse than that. And yet…

Seven years on she was still punishing him. She didn’t like what that said about her. And it wasn’t the way a woman who didn’t care behaved.

“It’s Tuti’s birthday in a couple of weeks,” John said. “Would you like to come? My parents are hosting it at their place. They’ve got the space for all the cousins to run around.”

“When is it exactly?” she stalled. Once upon a time she’d felt part of his family, even though the noisy boisterous Forsters were so different from the more reserved Hennings. Acting friendly was one thing but going to a party with him was quite another. Her introverted nature aside, if she went to the party would everyone think she and John were getting back together? That wasn’t going to happen. The pressure, the sincere good wishes, might be uncomfortable.

“Not this Saturday but next.”

“I’ll have to see. I have these insane deadlines now.”

“It’s going to be Tuti’s first time being around the whole family. It would be great if she had a few people there that she knew well.”

“Oh, right.” Her cheeks burned and she turned away to look out the window. He was asking her for Tuti, not him. Of course. How could she have thought anything else?

“Tuti and my mother haven’t hit it off,” John went on. “You know how Mum is, so over-the-top. She’s trying too hard. Tuti runs and hides every time she comes around.”

Katie could relate. She’d been overwhelmed by Alison at first, too, and she’d been a teenager when she’d first met John’s mother. Gradually she’d come to appreciate Alison’s exuberance, and then to love her as a second mother. “You want me to be an intermediary. Isn’t that your job?”

“I’ve tried. So far it’s not working.”

“I don’t know. The tutoring is within reason. But getting involved in family stuff…” She shook her head.

“Okay. I’m not going to pressure you. Just thought you might like to come for your own sake.” He paused. “My sisters ask after you.”

Suddenly her chest felt tight. She’d lost a whole family when she and John had split up. His sisters and his mother had rallied around her when she was ill and in the hospital. It wasn’t until John had returned to Australia and she refused to make up with him that Alison had turned cool toward her. She understood that Alison would be loyal to John and side with him, but she’d come to rely on Alison’s love and support. When she’d withdrawn it, she’d hurt Katie.





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